


The Sanguine Promise

by maq_moon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Force Lightning, Frankenstein in Space, Good dad Han Solo, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi Rey (Star Wars), Senator Ben Solo, bless that tag, body horror/experimentation, sex in a closet, the violence isn't rey versus ben don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maq_moon/pseuds/maq_moon
Summary: Senator Ben Solo has never been able to use the Force. Something changes when he meets Rey, a Jedi Knight sent to thwart an assassination plot. He has only ever wanted to live up to the promise of his blood. She just wants the lightning to stop.The man on Yavin 4 has something else in mind.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40
Collections: To Rapture the Earth and the Seas: the 2020 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology





	The Sanguine Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my pretties! This is my piece for the [Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's](https://reylofanfictionanthology.tumblr.com) 2020 project, _To Rapture the Earth and the Seas_. It started like this--
> 
> RFFA: Pick a force of nature  
> Me: **BLOOD**  
>  RFFA: ...interesting, but not what we're going for  
> Me: Oh, Force lightning then
> 
> \--because I went a little crazy and got into physics (I was thinking of the 4 fundamental forces lol) and that led to biology and that led to this. It's a creature made of literary allusions, nerdy references, nods to musicals, a few EU cameos for funsies, and chewing gum. It is, in essence, a horror story, so please mind the tags. I do hope you enjoy!

“It’s just not in your blood.”

The shimmering blue figure of Luke Skywalker sat in his palm. His uncle was looking at his folded hands, his feet, anywhere but forward. Young Ben’s brow furrowed as he fought back tears. He, the last Skywalker, didn’t have an ounce of Force ability. He would never get to fly off to train on Yavin 4 and learn how to move things with his mind or build a laser sword. He wouldn’t get to defend the New Republic like the Jedi Masters of old, killing Sith lords and destroying droid armies. He wouldn’t get to be a hero like Uncle Luke and Grandpa Anakin and Old Ben, who was such a big hero that Mom and Dad gave their only child his name.

They played the holo again. Dad looked relieved. Mom put on the face that meant she was about to fix something. She started listing people he knew who didn’t have the Force but were heroes anyway, who did great things. Ben pretended to listen for a while. When he went to his room for the night, he had pocketed the recording. He laid in bed for hours, staring at his shame-faced uncle.

“It’s just not in your blood.” 

Rewind. 

“It’s just not in your blood.”

It was supposed to be. He cried himself to sleep.

\------

“Politics suit you,” Leia said, smoothing his collar. Ben pushed her hands away. He hadn’t liked the gesture as a child. As a man of nearly thirty, it was even more irksome. 

He had finally come into his own. Recently elected by the people of Chandrila ( _ Chandrila Born, Chandrilan Values _ ), Senator Solo had fought tooth and nail to escape his mother’s long shadow. It was incredibly difficult to do when she insisted on babying him outside the Senate chambers, straightening his shirt or putting a stray bit of hair behind his ear. People passed them in the corridor. Some Ben knew, the older Senators, family friends who smiled affectionately. Others he didn’t know, and they glared or raised eyebrows. He knew what they were thinking — that he had gotten his job because of nepotism and pulled strings. They would see soon enough. He and his mother disagreed on a number of things. What was good for Chandrila wasn’t necessarily what was good for the Alderaan Sector, and he was here for Chandrila.

His mother was still talking. A stab of guilt lanced through him; she had been playing politics since she was a teenager and was only trying to help him. Ben tried to hear key words to catch up, but something was distracting him. A niggling at the back of his mind, like a worm in an apple, tickled his senses. It was the feeling of being watched. He turned to his right, Senatorial robes swishing with the speed.

A doe-eyed girl glared at him from behind his mother. Beautifully dressed, adorned in jewels, with her chestnut-colored hair twisted into three buns, she looked the part of an aide. Ben had been around politicians his whole life; this young woman was no politician. She seemed ready to pounce, eyes scanning the hall, hand occasionally going to her hip where a weapon was undoubtedly concealed. Hired muscle, but somehow different. She closed her discerning hazel eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. 

Ben curled his lip. A Jedi.

He had chosen to wear black fleuréline weave for his first session, an homage to the ailing and retired Mon Mothma. The fabric drank in light, reflected none, and made him look frightfully pale. He stared down the Jedi, cocking his head. When she lifted her chin defiantly, he smiled at her. She faltered.

Leia coughed. “If you’re quite finished,” Leia said. Ben inclined his head. Leia motioned for the girl to enter the Senate chamber proper. “I’ll be just behind you.” 

“Why do you have a Jedi following you around?” Ben asked, sneering.

Leia crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “It’s complicated.” Her braided coiffure was generously threaded with silver. A strand for every hundred lost, she would say. His father would stay silent; even Han knew there were times when it was wrong to jape. “I’ve been getting death threats. That’s certainly nothing new, but there’s intel that suggests it’s serious. Luke thought it prudent to send one of his Knights. She has a specific skill set that will help if the worst happens.”

“She looks incompetent.”

“She doesn’t like fancy things. She’s out of her element here. If you were in high heels for the first time, you’d be a little shaky, too.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Look,” Leia continued, “it isn’t forever. It’s just through the Festival of Liberation. I know you don’t like Jedi, but she’s a good person. Be nice.”

\------

Senator Solo was flanked by two aides. They marched into their pod and sat with no small amount of pomp and gravitas. Ben had been in here before, of course. As a child, he had trailed behind his mother through the empty chamber, begging to fly Alderaan’s pod. As a teen, he had been on the Junior Legislature and had toured the room in an official capacity. Seeing it full of people, hearing laughter and arguments, was another thing entirely. 

The chamber had to be bigger than he remembered to fit all of these people. One pod per Senator, at least one aide with each Senator, hundreds of systems-- it couldn’t all be in one room. Yet it was. One room in one ugly building in the megalopolis of Republic City on Hosnian Prime. It was cramped and loud and reeked of sweat, and Ben had never been more excited. The Chancellor’s pod eventually drifted to the center. Ben’s leg jostled up and down in anticipation.

He had campaigned on a platform of Chandrilan values-- whatever those were. It was deliberately vague. He wanted the people of Chandrila to tell him their opinions, their values, and he would vote accordingly. In theory, it was all well and good. Chandrilans were innately outspoken, especially about politics. Even their Imperial governor had refused to shut down democratic debates, despite the fact that democracy had died a violent death. 

He hadn’t expected his first vote to tank his popularity. 

“A dairy tariff?” Ben exclaimed, bursting into his family’s apartments. “Why does anyone on Chandrila care about a dairy tariff? It’s not as if we export milk.”

Leia, in the kitchen, paused. “Think a moment.” She was making hot chocolate.

“G’rho,” the Jedi said immediately. Ben hadn’t even known she was there. “It’s still technically a Chandrilan colony, and duncow milk is a primary export.” She was flushed, as if she were embarrassed by her knowledge. 

“Very good,” Leia said. She handed mugs of hot chocolate to everyone, but kept her eyes on the Jedi. “How is it?”

The girl lit up after the first sip. “It’s wonderful, Senator. Thank you. I’ve never had anything like it.”

Ben snorted. “Really? Not even before my uncle took you from your family? You must be from a backwater world. Let me guess — Belkadan. No, Jakku!”

Leia yanked the collar of her son’s fine black robes until his face was level with hers. “You’re being an asshole. Apologize to Rey and go wash up for dinner.”

He slouched towards the Jedi and locked eyes with her. She arched one eyebrow. Ben bowed at the waist. “My sincerest apologies, Madam Jedi.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

Ben walked to his room, smirking. Datapad in hand, he got to work. First, he had to do some damage control with the duncow situation; a well-phrased statement should mitigate some of the damage. Chandrilans hated being reminded of the Empire; he would simply refresh their memory about G’rho’s Imperial past. Second, he had to put Rey the Jedi in her place. He had inherited his mother’s political acumen, yes, but his father had passed on a few skills as well. Add some passive-aggressive barbs, and Ben would have beaten a Jedi Knight in unarmed combat. 

He slipped out of his robes and flopped onto his bed. He checked all of the settings on his datapad twice, changed a few of them, and cracked his knuckles. It was time for some good old-fashioned slicing.

* * *

Rey wasn’t sure she’d ever get accustomed to hugs. Han Solo swept her into his arms effortlessly. She returned the embrace with an affectionate pat. He had always been like this with her, free and open. It was Han who found her on Jakku, surrounded by arcs of glass in the cold desert, crying her heart out at the tender age of five. Han and the stalwart Chewbacca had flown her to Luke’s Praxeum, and they had kept in contact. She sometimes thought of them as her fathers, only she knew her real father was out there somewhere. He had to be. As a Jedi, it would be easier for her family to find her, Han had said. It sounded logical to young Rey, and the argument had convinced her. Adult Rey knew it for what it was: a truth masking the intent of the comment. She was grateful to Han and to Master Skywalker both, but she still wondered if her family would have come for her on Jakku. She looked at her fingers, remembering the glass. It didn’t matter.

It was nice to meet Han’s wife. Leia Organa was everything Rey had ever dreamed of, shoved into a much shorter body than she imagined.  _ Titans aren’t really as tall as mountains _ , she had to remind herself. She was elegant, crass, and utterly magnificent. Husband and wife embraced. Rey looked away, blushing furiously. 

Leia had been very accommodating, giving her gowns to wear and teaching her how to make herself look pretty with cosmetics. Rey could feel through the Force that Leia didn’t think she was a necessary precaution. She was polite enough not to say so to Rey’s face, and seemed to genuinely like her. Kinship, real or feigned, wasn’t the goal. She was here to keep Senator Organa alive.

The threats started almost two standard months ago. The message came to different places: the Senator’s office, home, ship, and even the  _ Falcon _ . The threats were transmitted via untraceable holo, on paper, scratched into walls, and, in one case, written in blood. The message was always the same:  _ The heir of Alderaan will not see Liberation!  _ It was a promise too grave to not consider, and with the Festival of Liberation approaching, it was time to act. Leia insisted that she would be able to sense any assassin with her own Force sensitivity. Luke disagreed. More to ease her brother’s mind than any actual worry, Leia allowed him to send a Knight to stay with her until the Festival was over. 

Her. Rey. One of the least self-assured Jedi at the Praxeum. When Rey had asked Master Skywalker why, he shrugged one shoulder with a boyish grin. It was a test, one of many, on her path to becoming a Master. It seemed like a foolish risk to take. Jovan was the obvious choice for this mission; he was a sniper with telekinetic powers that vastly outshone Rey’s. Maybe one of the Finns, ideally Galfridian. The prince could sense things parsecs away. But Master Skywalker had insisted: Rey would protect his sister, for good or ill.

“How do you like Republic City, kid?” Han asked. He grabbed Ben’s forgotten mug of hot chocolate and gulped it down.

“It’s…” Rey faltered.

“I know. The people are terrible, too. Most of them are too busy tripping over their own dicks to get anything done.”

“Han!” Leia scolded.

“I said most, not all.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You meet the boy yet, Rey?”

“Oh, she met your son.”

“My son?” Han scoffed. “So I guess he’s being an asshole.”

Rey shrugged a little and scrunched up her nose. Was it normal for parents to talk about their children that way? Was it normal for children to be unkind to their mothers? She shifted uncomfortably in her borrowed dress. “I’m sure it’s just because of the vote.”

Droids, shiny and magnificent, were putting all manner of dishes on the table. Rey liked droids; they were predictable and friendly, or if they weren’t, you just had to press a button or snip a wire. She was accustomed to Master Skywalker’s R2 unit as well as various service and battle droids, but she’d never seen domestic droids. They whirred and chirped until the spread was ready. Leia called for Ben. Out of his Senate robes, he looked much less imposing.

The Solos and Rey sat down to dinner.

There seemed to be an unspoken rule about not discussing work at the table, as Han and Leia tried to talk about anything else. Rey thought it sensible; Han was a smuggler, after all, and Leia was a pillar of the galactic government. They talked about Chewbacca and his family for a time, the little silences filled with the scrape of cutlery on fine flatware. Rey complimented the spiceloaf and seed poppers. Han and Ben got into an argument about whether the  _ Falcon _ was really the fastest ship in the galaxy (Rey held her piece and didn’t mention B-Wings). Leia took a large swig of wine when the golden protocol droid joined with both statistics and anecdotes (he mentioned B-Wings). Rey was laughing despite herself at one of Han’s crazier stories.

“— and then all of the power was just, bam! Gone. Front and rear shields, and I’ve got eyeballs flying at me from all sides.” He paused for dramatic effect.

“Too bad you didn’t have Rey,” Ben interjected. “I hear she’s pretty good with electricity.”

Rey frowned. “I know my way around a ship,” she said. “What happened next?” A stone formed in her chest, a lump of something that simply felt wrong. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. She didn’t sense any danger, but she caught Ben staring at her. 

“Well, those TIEs were up my ass pretty good, and Chewie’s on the gun, only there ain’t enough power for more than four or five shots—”

“With Rey, you wouldn’t have needed a gunner,” Ben said.

She shot him a glare. “What are you on about?”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to add weapons or bring a backup generator if you have a person who can do the job of both.” He laid down his knife and fork and smiled politely at her.

“And you think I’m a human generator?” Rey sniped. The stone in her chest dropped to her stomach.

“As good as, with all of that lightning you create. Isn’t that a Sith power?”

Rey managed to stay silent for ten full seconds before she launched into Ben. “I see,” she began. Her voice was icy. “You come from a very powerful family. Mother, uncle, and grandfather, but not you. No, you don’t have the Force. Not one bit. You’re massive, probably very physically fit. But when your mother is in danger, you can’t help. Your uncle called on me to do it. Me. And that just mortifies you. Now if you’re finished feeling inadequate, I’d like to try the quinberry cake.”

Ben’s lip twitched. “How dare you? You nearly killed a child with Dark Side powers! You don’t get to be a martyr.”

“That’s enough,” Han said, standing. “C’mon, son. Let’s go get dru-- um, watch pod racing-- somewhere else. Cool our heads. Guy time.” He took Ben by the arm and led him away.

Leia looked at Rey expectantly.

* * *

“I was little,” Rey began, “the first time it happened. All by myself in the Jakku desert, and a breeze kicks up. I’d been scavenging. That's how you survive on Jakku, you sell scrap or you sell yourself. I knew some of my scrap was going to get blown down the dune, buried, maybe me with it. I reach for it as it slides, but sand gets in my eyes and I panic. I can’t be five years old yet. I’ve got one hand over my eyes to keep out sand and one tugging a rope. The worst happens and the rope snaps. I remember being very hot and suddenly everything smelled… clean. When I open my eyes, I’m surrounded by glass and I have sparks on my fingertips. And it’s not glass like you’re thinking. It’s— it was brown, or gold, like shining sand, standing up in arcs all around me. That’s how Han found me, you know. I’m sure he told you. A little desert girl, surrounded by lightning glass.”

She looked into the distance and drank deep before continuing.

“I’m at the Praxeum for a few years. Master Skywalker taught a lot of meditative techniques, finding balance. But when I got very angry or very afraid, or even excited, sometimes I would still catch those little sparks on my fingers. I tried to shut it out. Forget it ever happened. I guess I was eight or nine when it happened. This boy, he was a lot bigger than me. A few years older. But he wanted to pick on the Finns-- there are two guys named Finn at the Praxeum-- and nobody messes with my friends. I told him to back off. He switches on his lightsaber. It was for training, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that a much bigger boy was coming at me with a weapon, and I had nothing. I only wanted to push him, I swear.” Her voice grew thick. “But when I reached out, I smelled it again and saw a brilliant flash of light. I heard him screaming, heard them all screaming, but I couldn’t stop. My hand wouldn’t stop. Finally Master Kirana subdued me. I woke a few days later. ‘The boy is alive’, they say. ‘Barely’.

“Oh, I dreaded talking with Master Skywalker. His  _ there is no try _ philosophy kind of stops you before you start. I told him how afraid I was. I said I’d rather focus on healing and defense than fighting. He thinks that’s a good idea. So that’s the story, though it’s supposed to be sealed. I can’t imagine how your son found out.”

Leia was quiet for a long moment. Then, taking Rey’s shaking hand, she began to speak softly. “I’ve heard that Yoda thought fear led to the Dark Side. There are a few steps in there.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “I think that’s bantha shit. Fear keeps us sane. Anger is normal. We should try not to hate, but some people don’t deserve our love. After hurting someone, it’s normal to be afraid. But you can’t let that fear define you. If you don’t accept that yes, sometimes you get sparkle fingers, you’re denying that part of you exists. You’re not living up to your full potential. And my son is an idiot. Just because Force lightning is traditionally used by Sith, the fact that you have used it doesn’t mean you’ve embraced the Dark Side. Light powers are used by Sith. It’s all one giant ball of gray.” She took Rey’s face in her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re strong, Rey. Not many people could have given my son such a dressing-down.”

Rey shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think I should apologize?”

“Do you?” Leia’s voice was neutral, betraying no matronly bias. Rey inhaled slowly; Leia’s Force signature was peaceful as well.

Rey bit her lip and looked away. “Can I ask you something?” Leia patted her hand. “Do all parents call their children names? You and Han both…”

Leia laughed, loud and gravelly. The droids began clearing the table. “Only the honest ones. And not when they’re little, goodness no. I always tried to give him positive reinforcement.” She looked at the table, the spaces where the flatware had been. “I wasn’t always there, though. The droids were. Droids don’t coddle. They’re blunt. I’m sure he was told something was  _ highly inappropriate, Master Ben _ —” she imitated the voice of the golden protocol droid “— rather than gently offered an alternative. But a person can be raised by rockrenders and come out kind. One’s childhood doesn’t excuse their behavior as an adult. So we must call a spade a spade.”

“That’s a fair point,” Rey conceded. The harsh sandstorms of Jakku had eroded her earliest years, but she didn’t carry that abrasiveness with her now. All anyone could do was move forward.

* * *

On Jakku, the Festival of Liberation was marked with little more than a sarcastic congratulations, maybe a toast if you could afford a shot of cheap white liquor. Sometimes pirates or spice runners came through the Outpost, maybe the occasional merchant, and they had something interesting to trade. Stories were all young Rey could afford most of the time. During the Festival, she would hear the most outlandish things about Jakku. Liberation started on Jakku. The Empire was defeated on Jakku. All she knew was that Jakku was unforgiving.

At the Praxeum, there were no celebrations to speak of. The other Masters would try to make a fuss over Master Skywalker. The stories told were about the Old Republic, the Jedi who had died so that the Empire might rise. After Master Skywalker went to sleep, Master Kyp would steal down and tell the apprentices about Luke, a farmhand from Tatooine who blew up the Death Star his first time flying off-world. The tale seemed impossible, but everyone knew it. It had to be true. Rey asked Han about it, just once, when he came for a visit. He got a far-off look in his eyes as she recited the story. When she finished, he corrected her on a few details and ruffled her hair. 

In the New Republic, The Festival of Liberation lasted a week. It was a new celebration, replacing the Imperial Fair. It was a spectacle, different in every system, its opulence only limited by the local government’s funds. In the New Republic’s capital, where the city lights kept the night sky bright, the celebration would be at its most boisterous. Parades, performances, games, music, vigils, speeches, fireworks, and at the end of it all, a masked ball. Somewhere within the revelry and camaraderie, the memories and shared stories, a killer would be waiting.

Rey inhaled slowly through her nose and stretched out with her feelings. Peace, excitement, anxiety, love, resentment, but no danger.

Han and Leia strolled through Republic City’s famed Hanging Gardens, arms linked. Rey stayed a few paces behind. She had been forced into another dress, though this one had a full skirt with panels and pleats to hide her lightsaber. The neckline was lower than she would have liked, but Leia had told her that it was necessary.

“A dress is just as powerful as a suit of armor. If they’re looking at your breasts, they’re not looking at your hands. They can’t see you take a defensive stance if your skirts are swaying. Pockets and pleats conceal weapons, while men have to display them. Fabric can be coated with blaster-resistant resin. And don’t get me started on makeup, Rey. A pair of fluttering eyelashes and parted red lips can topple a kingdom. Never forget that men always believe two things about a woman: one, that she is weak, and two, that she is attracted to him.”

So Rey wore the heavy brocade dress, green and gold and able to be torn away to reveal fighting clothes underneath. It was uncomfortable, this feminine armor, but it served a purpose. It also helped her blend in with the Gardens' greenery, flowers and trees and shrubbery she could never have even imagined. Occasionally, Leia would stop and point something out to a disinterested Han or beckon a curious Rey. 

As dusk crept up on them, they were ushered to a platform adjacent to the Gardens. Pressed against the ziggurat, in the shadows of skyscrapers, with blue starflowers in her hair, Leia Organa shone like a sun. She spoke slowly, somberly, and her voice echoed over the gathered throng. She introduced her son, who joined them on the platform, his black hair woven into an elaborate braid. She lit a candle, and the crowd followed suit. Han squeezed her hand. 

Rey saw but noticed none of this. She, in her ostentatious armor, was feeling, not hearing. What she felt gave her pause; every soul gathered mourned. Some were more genuine, some had deeper wounds, but every creature present had lost something to the Empire. The vigil lasted some hours, with person after person coming to share a story and light a votive. A hum of sadness resonated through the Force. The assassin would not strike tonight.

\------

“Your hair looks nice,” the Jedi girl blurted out. Color rushed to her face.

“Thanks.” Ben touched the soft braids in his cascading hair. “It’s an Alderaanian custom.” He looked at her, eyes immediately drawn to the bare expanse of skin beneath her collarbones. Her soft breasts were on display in the gown his mother had shoved her into. “You look— your dress is— you look good.”

“Thanks.” She looked away. Ben supposed that Jedi were unused to compliments.

“Dad says I’m supposed to apologize to you,” he said. “And if my father thinks an apology is in order, somebody has usually kriffed up pretty badly. So…” He shrugged and quirked his lips in a half-smile. 

The Jedi stared at him for a few moments. “Are you going to?”

“Am I going to what?”

“Apologize.”

Ben felt his eyebrows knit together, felt his mouth twist. “I just did.”

“No,” the girl said, infuriatingly calm, “You said that Han told you to apologize. That’s not an apology. If you’re not sorry, don’t pretend to be. It’s insulting to both of us.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already returning to his mother’s side, skirts billowing behind her.

\------

“It’s just not in your blood.”

How many times had he watched this holo over the years? It stabbed him every time, a fresh jagged wound in a new place made with a different emotion. Sadness, anger, longing, and envy, cutting him down to the size of a child.

“It’s just not in your blood.”

But, oh, how he had wanted it to be! How he had wanted to be like Anakin before the fall, like Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon, mastering old techniques and honing new ones. How he’d wanted to be like Luke, loved by everyone. He would even have settled for a small amount of Force sensitivity, like his mother had. He could be like her and sense emotions, calm the panicked and woe-stricken. 

“It’s just not in your blood.”

_ Bantha shit _ , he thought. The Force was strong in his family; it had simply decided he was unworthy. Instead, castoffs like Rey and spoiled pricks like Raynar Thul were born with the gift. It wasn’t right. He was a Skywalker.

“It’s just not in your blood.”

Sighing, Ben turned off the holo and threw it in a drawer. He got out his datapad and continued his research on G’rho and its duncow milk exports. Politicking was in his blood.

* * *

On the second day, the parade wound along the main thoroughfares of Republic City. Speeders hauled giant floating representations of the Rebellion. Both of Ben’s maternal grandmothers floated by, taken too young. Effigies of Imperials burned below, crackling in bright flames-- green, akin to the beam that had destroyed Jedha and Alderaan. There was cheering, but Ben wasn’t sure if it was for the rebel heroes or the death of the Empire. Maybe it was the same thing. He regarded the faces passing his high perch; the organizers had chosen to portray Padmé as Queen-- a child of fourteen. With her white face paint and exaggerated eyes, she could have been younger still, a girl playing pretend. He frowned as she passed over the burning body of her husband. She wouldn’t have wanted this, couldn’t have. She had never known Darth Vader. Some small part of him whispered that she must have known, by the end.

At dawn, as the festivities were winding down, Ben felt his mother’s hand on his arm. She was telling him something about Luke, but he was tired and distracted. She seemed put out, so he tried to pay attention, pressing his fingers onto his eyelids. Luke wasn’t coming for any part of the Festival, he gathered. He snapped to full attention. Luke had to come; Luke visited every month. He was the only one who could stop the nightmares.

On the third day, stalls were set up in the city square. They offered food and games (and, if you knew where to look, gambling). Senator Solo was expected to make an appearance. He wandered about, hopped up on caf and nerves, and didn’t speak to anyone. He crashed into a fitful sleep some time before sunrise, fireworks bursting in the sky and behind his eyes. 

On the fourth night, they feasted. It seemed that half of the galaxy was crammed into Republic City’s finest banquet hall, eating delicacies and getting drunk on expensive wine, Mon Cala opera in the background. In reality, this event was for the elite. The rest of the Hosnians were treated to a jizz music fest across town, undoubtedly enjoying bigger portions and laughing more.

The Alderaan Sector’s delegation was slightly larger this evening. Senator Organa and her husband were joined by not only their aides but also the Thul family. Ben glared at them, garishly dressed in their vermillions and purples and golds, decorated with heavy jewels: Aryn, beautiful and shrewd; Bornan and his brother Tyko, borderline possessive of their assets and family. At the center, beaming and animated, was House Thul’s heir, Raynar. 

Ben scoffed. These people had been nobility, yes, but they shouldn’t have been. Long ago, House Thul had used Sith allies to fight House Organa for the throne. The wine in Ben’s mouth turned sour. Even the descendant of Sith-loving usurpers had the Force in his blood. He turned back to the Chandrilan delegation, Raynar Thul’s laughing face implanted in his brain.

\------

The best thing about the masque, Rey decided, was that she didn’t have to wear a dress. She could wear her normal Jedi robes and people would assume it was a costume. Since the assassin was sure to move tonight, it would be better to be in fighting clothes. That’s the explanation she gave Leia, calmly and with a sense of purpose the senator hadn’t seen before. 

“The assassin will strike tonight, Senator.  _ The heir of Alderaan will not see Liberation _ , remember? It’s their last chance. I can protect you better if I’m not restricted by layers and layers that obstruct access to my lightsaber.” She met Leia’s critical eye. “I know my shortcomings,” she said. “I think you’ve taken advantage of my insecurities. I’ve followed your lead, but that can’t happen tonight. I can’t protect you in a costume. I appreciate your position, but please respect mine. Hiding in plain sight is the only way this works. You will not die tonight.”

“Solah,” Leia said, a half-smile on her lips. “That’s how Jedi yield, yes? Solah. You win. You might even be right. But it’s still an event, Rey. You can’t just strut about in your old robes. These people will notice. Your clothes have to appear brand new, and you’ve got to have a mask.”

Rey wanted to argue. Sometimes, however, the path to victory excluded conflict. She nodded and turned into a caricature of herself, comfortable in body if not in spirit. She wore her own boots, polished to look new. Instead of a mixed blend of fabrics in earth tones, warm and familiar, she was sheathed in gaberwool and synth leather, black on black. A thin mask of silk and gemweave covered only her eyes, which were rimmed with kohl. Her lips were the color of brandywine, a violent slash across her skin. Her saber, heavy and warm, was a familiar comfort at her hip. Rey caught her reflection and did a double-take. Jedi were not supposed to look so dark.

\------

Senator Organa was barely recognizable in her costume. “They will expect me to wear white,” she had said. “They always want me to wear white.” Instead, she had gone to a secret corner of her closet and pulled out vibrant treasures. Gowns, dozens of beautiful gowns with shoes and headpieces to match, foreign and ethereal, were on display. “These belonged to my biological mother, Padmé Naberrie. I had hoped to one day give them to a daughter of my own, or perhaps a granddaughter, but…”

Her face was naked, hidden beneath a hooded cloak. Olive green velvet enveloped her, billowing and obscuring the senator, tied at the waist with a purple obi. It brought out her eyes, changed her shape, and concealed her visage. She and Rey could have been Padmé and Anakin or Obi-Wan in another world, a senator protected by a Jedi from a mystery killer. But this was not the time for such fanciful musings. 

Leia was escorted by her rebellious husband. In typical Han fashion, he had defied the rules and worn no costume. His cheap mask was off of his face the moment he was through the door. Rey groaned; Han Solo stuck out like a Rodian among Ewoks. Underdressed and unmasked, he was a beacon for the assassin. If he stayed at Leia’s side, things would go badly. Han was predictable, though; he went where the alcohol was.

Every few minutes, Rey inhaled through her nose and reached out with the Force. She could feel drunkenness, anger, lust, joy, political machinations— She moved towards the latter, slipping through the crowd like a snake. Reclining against a wall, she pulled the Force around her, delicately enough that eyes would pass over her with disinterest. 

_ \--do you think this idea to create a First Senator is serious-- _

_ \--not even sure what that would entail, much less-- _

_ \--would it even be? One of the ‘old guard’, no doubt. Garr, Ro-Kiintor, Organa-- _

_ \--last thing we need is more Populist control-- _

_ \--optimist, but I’d hope that whomever gets the position puts their party aside-- _

_ \--don’t really think  _ Organa  _ could do that-- _

Rey straightened, stretched out her senses. The man who had questioned Leia’s integrity was, she thought, supposed to be dressed as a Jedi. She shook her head at his fake beard and focused on the human. Anxiety, boasting, a desire for change, but no hatred. She scanned the whole ballroom again, slinking about in the shadows, stopping whenever she heard Leia’s name or felt anything unusual. She perused the impressions of the event’s hired security; they felt nothing amiss.

Maybe Leia had been right. Maybe the threats were empty.

“Bored?”

Rey jumped at the sound of Ben’s voice. “Busy,” she corrected. “How did you find me?”

“Luck, I guess,” he said from behind his sleek black domino mask. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the only person dressed as a Jedi who looks like an actual Jedi.” He slid the mask up his face to rest on the crown of his head. “Look, I’m sorry. For slicing into your records and for being a jerk about it and for half-assing an apology. I just— I don’t really get along with Jedi, and— I don’t know. I had a rough first day and you were an easy target.”

She felt the sincerity in him. “I forgive you,” Rey said. She inclined her head; he walked with her. “If I can ask, I mean, if you don’t mind, why don’t you get along with Jedi?”

“Because I’m not one.” He chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said it aloud. I always heard the stories of Uncle Luke and the Old Republic and as a kid I thought it was inevitable that I would have the Force.” His costume, an abstract design lined with jet feathers that Rey didn’t understand, swished as they walked the perimeter. “But I didn’t show any ability. So Uncle Luke took my blood and tested it. I still have the holo he sent. It felt like a complete dismissal. The last Skywalker, and I didn’t have a drop of Force-sensitivity. And to add insult to injury—” Ben tried to rake a hand through his hair, but it snagged on his mask. “To add insult to injury, I need the Force. Uncle Luke visits every month to do a Jedi thing on me.”

Rey quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, a ‘Jedi thing’?”

“To— to stop the nightmares. But for some reason, he’s late this month.” He looked away from her.

“Has he told you the name of the technique? I’m proficient in many non-combat skills. If I know what it is, I can help.”

Taken aback, Ben stopped walking and held her by the shoulders. He searched her half-concealed face. “You would? Even after I was so cruel to you?”

“We all do things we regret, Senator,” she replied.

“Ben,” he said. “Call me Ben.”

She smiled at him, brandywine lips curved ever so slightly. “Okay. Ben.”

\------

After another scan of the room, she allowed him to pull her onto the dancefloor. It was impulsive, stupid, and fun. She stepped on his toes as he tried to teach her the steps. They laughed when she stumbled and pulled him into a graceless heap on the floor with her. Eventually she stood on his feet and let him do all of the work, twirling her around the ballroom until they were dizzy. Someone asked if he could cut in; Ben shoved him. Rey whispered in the man’s ear, then let the music carry her away again.

They danced until Ben put a flute of something bubbly in Rey’s hand. She sipped, pulled a face, and spat the liquid back into its glass immediately. He stifled a laugh and gave her something sweet and fizzy that tickled her nose and went down smooth. One of her arms was draped around his neck. He tugged her to a dim corner and pulled at the stays of her mask; the gemweave and silk loosened, drooped, but didn’t fall. He was talking, but she couldn’t hear him over the band and the crowd. They spun in place as he hummed in her ear and ran a hand up and down her back.

Rey couldn’t say how exactly it happened, but suddenly she was in a maintenance closet, her hands in Ben Solo’s hair and her tongue in his mouth. It was dark, cramped, clumsy-- she tripped on a mop, he stepped in a bucket. It was sloppy, her robes pushed out of the way, one leg hitched up, his feathered costume unbuttoned, their masks somewhere on the floor. It was frantic, teeth clicking, inelegant biting and sucking of lips, uncontrolled grinding, anything to lessen the pressure building. Rey positioned one of Ben’s legs between hers and pressed against him, desperate noises escaping her.

Ben was faring no better. He pawed at her breasts, grabbed at her ass to pull her closer. There was an electricity, almost literal for the heat her fingers left behind, and he needed to be consumed by it. He felt a shock on his scalp and jerked; the pain was good. He hadn’t known that he liked pain. His hands wandered to the band of her trousers. He hooked his thumbs in and was seized by a sudden bolt of panic.

“You’ve done this before, right?” he asked, voice rasping and devoid of breath.

“Sex?” she replied, “Or sex in a closet?” She pushed her trousers down. “Yes.”

They didn’t take their time. Their shoes stayed on, their underwear pulled down just enough to fuck. Rey bit her lip when Ben thrust into her, stifling her cries. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and bit, drawing blood. It was salty and metallic on his lips, and he lathed the wound in time with his thrusts. Her cunt around him, her blood on his tongue-- he came undone embarrassingly quickly. 

“Rude,” Rey managed. He already had a hand between them, ghosting over where they were joined, where she was swollen, the place that made her tremble and clench around him as he softened inside her. “I get to come first next time.” He smiled and kissed the blood on her neck. There was going to be a next time.

Rey stiffened and pushed him away with one hand as she straightened her robes with the other. The loss of her heat was jarring. She had her trousers up and was running out the door within seconds. Ben followed, buttoning his costume with shaky fingers as he chased her. In his post-coital haze and confusion, he was dimly aware of asking what was wrong. The answer was a cold shower.

“The assassin.”

\------

Raynar Thul was in the ballroom, conspicuous in crimson and gold. He had tried to dance with Rey, his  _ friend _ , and been assaulted by a Senator. Rey had whispered a favor to him— rather, she had called in a debt. 

_ I want to get away for an hour. There’s no sign of trouble. Keep an eye on Senator Organa until I’m back, will you? Then we’ll call it even. _

Even if he hadn’t owed Rey, Leia Organa was the rightful ruler of Alderaan. Any member of House Thul would be honored to protect her. Raynar just wasn’t sure what he was looking for. But when the Geonosan with the uneven wings approached Her Majesty, panic surged in him. Moments later, a disheveled Rey burst into the room.

\------

She was too far away.

“Kriff,” she muttered, elbowing the elite out of her way. “Kriff, you’re dumb. You should have stayed here.” 

She saw wings, uneven and discolored; that was him— and he was at least fifty meters away. The band smothered her voice as she yelled for Senator Organa. A spike in the Force told her that the assassin was poised to strike. She would have to grab him, freeze him with telekinesis. She took a deep breath, extended her left arm, and closed her eyes.

Silence. Silence and heat, and the smell of clean air-- She opened her eyes.

The room stared at her. Behind their masks, the eyes of onlookers were wide. She felt their fear. She saw her sin in their posture, the way they shrunk back when she approached. She wished the band would play, would distract them. She soldiered forward. The sea of people parting before her until she was face-to-face with Senator Organa. She opened her mouth; no sound came out.

The Geonosian’s body laid between them, curled in on itself and charred black. 

An arm was around her shoulder, a familiar voice murmuring words she didn’t understand but knew were meant to comfort her. Han, she realized. He was speaking quickly, and if she tried, maybe she could catch words— but she didn’t try. She couldn’t try. She choked back a sob.

She had killed someone, and it had been a complete accident.

Rey let herself be led onwards, unthinking and unfeeling, left hand limp and shaking.

* * *

Han’s words almost reassured her.

“You saved my wife. My family. Hell, you saved  _ Princess Leia _ . What would the galaxy have done without her?” He pulled Rey into an uncomfortably tight hug. “I don’t know what me and the boy would have done without her.”

But that was Han. He was a jackass until he got to know you. Then he was a sentimental jackass, loyal to a fault. Master Skywalker was a fathier of a different color. Part hero, part sage, part melancholy man whose glory days were gone, Luke Skywalker was difficult to predict.

Her hands shook as she prepared to contact him. What would she say? How could she justify this? 

She sat in the dark in the guest bedroom of the Organa Senatorial apartments. Her fingers were cold. How could they be cold? They had just been so hot— She pushed the thought from her mind. She was going to throw up. She should probably throw up before she talked to Master Skywalker so that she didn’t throw up while she was talking to him. Rey wasn’t sure, but she might have been crying.

A message was waiting for her. Panic surged and bile burned her throat. Did he already know? Rey sighed when she saw the faces of the Finns, the prince and the orphan, staring at her. She almost smiled. Finn started to talk, eyes wide, tripping over frantic words like ‘fire’ and ‘robbery’. Finn interrupted him. His face took up as much space as possible, and he looked downright excited as he gave grave news.

_ Rey! Man, it got crazy here tonight. We were doing evening meditation and I sensed someone. Finn, I’m telling the story! There was a fire and a break-in in the Archives. Yes, I’m getting to that! The fire was just a diversion so the burglar could, er, burgle from more places. Bedrooms. Master Skywalker called us all together and said everything was fine. Then he told other people that it wasn’t fine exactly, because the burglar stole our DNA. He’s contacting the off-worlders who were targeted. That means you, Rey. Have fun with your super-serious Skywalker time! _

Finn the foundling jumped in before the prince stopped recording.

_ Hope you had a fun night, Peanut! Oh, and that you got the assassin. _

The feed ended. Rey didn’t process the information she had been given. She understood that a stranger had stolen from her, but she gave it no deeper thought. The more pressing issue was that Master Skywalker would be contacting her. She almost sobbed in relief. That saved her the trouble of having to reach out with her stiff, cold, unyielding hands.

An agonizing wait followed. Luke came through eventually, looking haggard even via holo.

“Master Skywalker,” Rey greeted. “I heard about—”

“Talk to me,” he said. “I just got word from Han.”

“Of course you did.” Rey wiped her eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it. You know that, right? It was an accident. I was trying to pull him and it just happened.” 

“I can almost feel you berating yourself from here,” Luke said. He was quiet for some time, not meeting her eyes. “Do you know how I defeated Darth Vader? Not the romantic war story Kyp tells, but how it really happened?” Rey shook her head. “I watched from the Death Star as my friends were lured into a trap. The emperor taunted me. Vader searched my feelings and realized that I had a sister. And in that moment, I did exactly what the emperor wanted. I pulled my lightsaber to me and attacked my father, consumed with the Dark. I cut off his hand. It was like mine.” He flexed his robotic fingers for emphasis. “I told the emperor that I was a Jedi, like my father before me. In the end, it was my father who killed Palpatine. He killed himself— or died killing Vader. He took attacks meant for me, and it was too much. He asked me to take off his mask. He knew he would die, but he wanted…” Luke sighed. “Anakin Skywalker destroyed Darth Vader and killed the emperor, but I get the credit.”

“But it’s still because of you,” Rey said. “You brought Anakin back.”

“By using the Dark Side, like my father before me. Some things are outside of our control. It’s in our blood.”

Rey stopped breathing. “You mean to say that the lightning is genetic? Does that mean you know who my parents are?”

Luke barked a humorless laugh. “You’re a Jedi, Rey. Your heritage doesn’t matter.”

“How can you of all people—”

“Your friends told you about the break-in.” The change of subject wasn’t subtle or smooth. “We kept the full extent hidden from the younger students. You need to know the truth of it. This was an attack targeting those Jedi with the highest midi-chlorian counts. Data and genetic material were stolen. You are now missing both your comb and hairbrush, as well as some unwashed clothes.”

Rey’s brows knitted together. “Why target people with high midi-chlorian counts? We know that doesn’t necessarily translate to power.”

“ _ We _ know that, yes,” Master Skywalker said, “but this person may not. They may simply want to understand the Force. That’s my guess. They took plenty of DNA-laden items, so there’s no reason to come back. Some of the younglings are worried, but I won’t be losing any sleep over it.”

Something about that jogged Rey’s memory.  _ Uncle Luke visits every month to do a Jedi thing on me. To— to stop the nightmares _ . 

“Master,” she said, “Forgive me, but your nephew told me something. He said you make his nightmares stop, but that you were late. I think he’s having some trouble. He wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

Luke looked very old in that moment, sad and pale. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll talk to him about it.”

Master Skywalker’s figure distorted. Static surrounded him and soon he blinked out of view. She expected him to re-connect right away. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. She made no attempt to get in touch with Yavin 4.

She had to leave, she knew. Over the course of one night she had become a murderer and her home had been invaded. Rey doubted that the assassination attempt and robbery were linked, but she needed to think about it. She needed to think about everything. She also thought that seeing her friends might cheer her up, though she wasn’t sure she deserved that. After all, she had almost gotten Leia Organa killed just so she could have a quickie in a closet.

Rey prepared to leave Hosnian Prime immediately, but a disturbance in the Force stopped her. It was earth-shaking. Rey put a hand to her head to stave off vertigo while she threw her modest wardrobe in a bag. She fell to her knees. Then, without preamble, she fell asleep.

* * *

“It’s just not in your blood.”

He hadn’t been able to save his mother. The Force had saved her. He could never have saved her, Light or Dark, Jedi or Sith, because the Force wasn’t in his blood. But it was, wasn’t it? The very idea sounded wrong, hollow in his ears and echoing mind. 

Bloodlines were important. He was the son of Han Solo, smuggler and General. He was the son of Princess Leia Organa, paragon. He was the nephew of Luke Skywalker, Master Jedi, who defeated Emperor Palpatine, who blew up the Death Star with his eyes closed. He was the grandson of Padmé Amidala, whose planet tried to amend its constitution so that she could lead them for more than two terms. He was the grandson of Anakin Skywalker, hero of the Clone Wars. He was the grandson of Darth Vader and everything that implied.

He closed his eyes and reached his hand toward the holodisc across the room. His blood was powerful. He  _ would  _ bring the holo to his hand.

“It’s just not in your blood.”

He thought about how his mother used the Force, eyes wide open, hands-on. He thought about how his uncle used the Force, eyes closed, at a distance. He thought about how Rey used the Force, inhaling slowly, every motion deliberate. He thought about Rey, whom he had fucked in a closet, who had promised him a next time, whose blood still lingered on his tongue, who offered to help him with his nightmares but couldn’t because she saved his mother and ran.

“It’s just not in your blood.”

Ben sat up straight on his bed and stared at the holo, four meters away on his desk. He took a gasping gulp of air. He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly through his nose. He listened to the cadence but ignored the words. He slowly lifted his right hand. He imagined a string connecting his palm to the disc. It felt like he was covered in strings, the knit of his sweater connected to everything. He curled his fingers, beckoning.

“It’s just not—”

“But it is,” Ben said triumphantly, staring at the holodisc in his palm. He exhaled sharply before he began to laugh in earnest. His pale fist crushed the holo. Never again would it taunt him with lies. It fritzed, saying something he couldn’t quite hear as he dropped it to the ground.

He stood up, body buzzing. He had to tell someone. He had to tell his mother— no. He had to tell Luke. Luke had been wrong all those years ago. Ben  _ did  _ have the Force. It was in his blood, just as he’d suspected all along.

As he left, he paid no mind to the broken holo. Luke’s image stood, staring at the ground, blue and blurry. “Not— your blood,” he said, voice warped. “Not— your blood. Not— your blood. Not—” 

* * *

The smell of mildew lingered heavy, increasing with every rainfall. No amount of scrubbing had gotten it out. No amount of scouring had gotten rid of the rust. It hung in stalactites from the ceiling, grew in the oldest places, mixed with mold and rot. It was impossible to clean the entire complex, but the work area was immaculate. He did his best, pale fingers wiping away cleanser and chipping off ruddy flakes of metal. It smelled nauseous and had rusticles hanging from the ceiling, but it was functional. 

The woman strapped to the gurney stirred in her sleep. He didn’t know her name off the top of his head; it was in her file. Twi’lek names were strange to begin with. He cocked his head and upped the flow of sleeping drugs to her IV. It would be detrimental to the process for her to wake before he was finished.

He cracked his knuckles and opened a well-worn copy of a book he wasn’t supposed to have. No one was supposed to have it; Sith alchemy was dangerous, after all. Books in and of themselves aren’t harmful.  _ The Creation of Monsters _ would only cause problems if he created a monster. That certainly wasn’t his intent. He intended to create something beautiful.

The centrifuge stopped whirring. He marked his page and went to collect what had been extracted. The vial he pulled out shimmered. He referred to the Sith formulae and his own notes. Months of trial and error— mostly error— had brought him to this point. Here, in the bowels of an abandoned bio-testing lab, he would do the impossible. He would take a banal creature, average in every way, and turn it into a Force-user.

He filled a syringe with the undiluted Jedi DNA from the vial. The Twi’lek tossed her head as he tied a tourniquet. He pressed the needle into the crook of her arm and enhanced her. The change was immediate. Black streaks marred her veins. She convulsed. Yellow spittle formed at the corners of her mouth. 

She died twelve point two three seconds after the attempted enhancement.

He sighed and took out his log book. He jotted down detailed notes and posited questions to himself. Committing thoughts to paper was a poor communication of feeling, he felt, but useful. The stream-of-conscious flow added something that a datapad’s perfunctory detail couldn’t. He would try again in the morning. He had plenty of test subjects waiting in mostly-sterile rooms, continual food for discovery and wonder.

* * *

  
  


Leia had to shake Rey awake. The Jedi was still in her costume, her face wan and tear-streaked. When at last Rey woke, Leia kissed her on the forehead and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving her to change.

Breakfast was a jovial and brief affair. Before Rey could tell her hosts that she was leaving, Ben strode into the dining room and kissed her full on the lips. She pushed him away.

“Your parents are here,” she said.

“I don’t care! The whole Senate and every Jedi and even the whole kriffing Thul family could be here and I wouldn’t care. Not today.”

“Well I do.”

“Oh,” Ben said, blushing. “I mean I care about that. About if you care. You said there’d be a next time, so I figured kissing was fine.”

“Ben.”

“Sorry. But, well— I mean, yes, for— I should’ve asked— But everybody, something amazing happened last night. Mom, Dad, Rey— look. I just— Look.”

He closed his eyes and reached his hand out. For a moment no one moved or breathed. A single pear leapt from its place in the table’s centerpiece and into Ben’s palm. 

Rey lunged at him and threw her arms around his neck. “I know how much you wanted this. I’m so happy for you.” Leia enveloped the pair of them.

“Holy shit,” Han murmured, falling into a chair. “I thought you kids hated each other.”

\------ 

Ben’s leg jostled with excitement. A million thoughts were running through his head, not all of them good. His mother had advised him to take a few deep breaths before they boarded the  _ Falcon _ . They were going to Yavin 4 as a family to tell Luke the news and come up with what his father called a “battle plan, because those snooty politicians don’t like Jedi in their ranks, and nobody’s gonna push you out while I’m breathing”. Ben had contacted Chewie right away, the latter celebrating Life Day on Kashyyyk, the former nearly unable to speak coherently. Ben hadn’t let go of Rey’s hand.

Luke Skywalker greeted his grinning family with an arched eyebrow. He embraced his sister, nephew, and brother-in-law. He noted Ben and Rey’s proximity without comment.

The Solo family was clustered together, whispering excitedly. Ben’s smile was a parsec wide. Rey noticed for the first time that he had a dimple. She hid her own smile behind her hand as her Master drew closer. She laid her hand on Ben’s arm and helped him keep his words on track even as his thoughts flew in a thousand directions.

Luke nodded as Ben told him that he had used the Force. He frowned, looked away. Leia, aglow, asked what should be done. Luke sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. Han wondered aloud if this would interfere with how Ben had chosen to live his life. Luke looked at his hands. Ben said his uncle’s name once, twice. Luke looked at him, tears in his eyes, and apologized for not keeping their monthly appointment.

Ben and Leia stiffened.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Ben asked. His grip on Rey’s fingers tightened. “You lied about it. Somehow, you kept me from the Force. You kept it from me. It wasn’t me not living up to my potential, it was you!”

They waited for a denial. It didn’t come.

Leia’s facial muscles twitched. “You’d better have a damn good explanation, Luke.”

“The blood test,” Luke began, “was like nothing I’d ever seen. His midi-chlorians were off the charts. But I looked at him while he slept, looked into his mind. He was already having the nightmares. Leia, the darkness I saw in him! It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. Darker than anyone else. I thought it was a fluke, just the nightmares affecting him, but I sensed it when he awoke. I couldn’t let that kind of darkness run rampant in the galaxy. And he was a child, my nephew, whom I loved. I had to protect him. So I modified a technique: Force Dampen. Every few weeks I would hamper his ability. The nightmares disappearing was an unexpected bonus. I don’t know how this change occurred. It usually would take a fluid exchange, blood or sputum or… well. Dampen’s not as drastic as a Sever--”

Leia’s fist connected with her brother’s face. “Not as bad as you could have done? Is that what you’re saying? You took away my son’s agency! You made his decisions for him!” As Leia went on, Han put his arm around her shoulders. He was shaking, his eyes burning.

Rey stopped hearing. Ben’s hand grew hot in hers, or maybe her hand grew hot in his. Her breath was stuck. This wasn’t the Luke Skywalker she knew, the sagacious mentor she thought she knew. This was something he should never have done under the principles he instilled in his pupils. It was the ultimate betrayal. 

Ben ran, and Rey didn’t hesitate to follow him.

\------

Ben didn’t know Yavin 4. He didn’t know what paths were safe and what places to avoid. He didn’t much care. The sound of blood rushing through his ears drowned out whatever fauna called out warnings. He turned erratically, off the paths, into the jungle, along rivers, beyond waterfalls. He felt pulled by strings,  _ the Force _ , a tiny part of him whispered, and he followed the tug. 

Rey found him sobbing, fine clothes torn, in a thicket. Butterflies and small woodland creatures surrounded him, and he muttered to them incoherently. They scattered as she approached; she had never been good with animals. She reached out with the Force to calm him before approaching. His head jerked up immediately.

“My mother does that,” he said, blinking away tears. “She doesn’t do much, but she does that. I always thought that if I even had her little amount of Force sensitivity, I’d be living up to the promise of my blood. My potential. The first thing I did,” he stifled a sob, “the first thing I did was pull something across the room. That stupid holo of Luke saying I didn’t have the Force. And I thought— I thought it was because of you. Because when I bit you that night, I accidentally broke the skin. I tasted your blood. I thought you gave me the Force. The why didn’t really matter, honestly. I had it. I felt connected to— to— to everything.” A light rain began. “You saw how proud my parents were. I guessed Mom would be, but Dad? That was a real surprise. I was so excited to tell Luke, but he’s known all along. I can’t believe he’s known all along.”

Rey sat on the jungle floor beside him, rain dripping onto her face. She rubbed her hand on his back in circular motions. “It wasn’t right,” she said after a long silence. “Did you see your mother punch him? That’s not a memory that’ll fade any time soon.”

They laughed, the sound muffled by thunder. “It certainly was a sight.”

The Massassi trees offered little shelter from the storm. Ben and Rey sat in the mud, side-by-side, in quietude. The clouds became darker. Evening approached. Ben drifted off to sleep, exhausted. Rey carded her fingers through his wet hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He was peaceful. A butterfly landed on his wrist. She smiled and shook her head. It was amazing that he showed such a pronounced affinity so quickly, even in sleep. 

Rey grasped for her flashlight. They couldn’t reach the Praxeum before nightfall, but they could reach it before Han and Leia became too worried. Her hand found nothing on her belt, not even her lightsaber. She cursed loudly, waking Ben. He hummed curiously.

“No light,” she said simply.

“I don’t want to go back yet anyway,” he replied. “There’s a shelter not far from here, a bunker of some kind. I noticed it as I was running. Didn’t you?”

“I was more focused on you,” Rey said. Ben flushed. 

He led the way to the shelter, perhaps a quarter kilometer back the way they had come. It was an ugly thing, a slab of duracrete with a rusted door clinging to it. It felt empty, devoid of all life. Rey had a bad feeling about it, but reasoned that it was only one night and she wasn’t alone. It would be fine. She could even use this time to teach Ben some basic Force principles and Jedi tenets, things their earlier glee had forestalled. The screeching sound of metal hinges opening against their will made Rey cover her ears. A sickly smell came from the open door, mold and sharp antiseptic. It made her eyes water and her stomach turn.

Inside, the overhead lights were dim and flickering. The stench was muted. As they walked down the entrance hallway, fingers laced, the mold grew less prominent. It almost smelled like a med bay. A growing sense of unease tugged at Rey. Just as she was about to suggest that they turn back, a high-pitched scream echoed through the bunker. Rey took a deep breath and tried to find the source with her senses. She didn’t have time; Ben was running toward the sound. 

She chased him through the labyrinthine complex. Left, left, right, down fourteen steps, left again— and she made mental notes of the writing on the wall. Clone Data Archives, Cellular Regeneration Laboratory, Amputation and Prosthetics, Bioengineering: Human, Limb Regrowth, each name fantastical and borderline absurd until she connected the dots.

During the Clone Wars, the Geonosians had kept a Bio Lab on the moon. It had been lost for decades, swallowed whole by the jungle. Ben and Rey had found it, and it was occupied.

Another scream pierced the air.

Ben stopped in his tracks. Rey nearly ran into his broad back. He was shaking. She put a soothing hand on his arm, but he shook his head. He pointed. Rey covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Through a window laid a med bay. The patients were all naked, strapped to their metal gurneys. Not one of them was comprised of a single race.

Closest to the viewing window was a human body, pale and shaved. Its face was a bright magenta; lekku dangled from the head, limp and dead. Beside this hybrid laid another, a Togruta from the waist up, Amazonian from the waist down. Her breast rose and fell erratically. Beyond her was a human torso that bore the head of a Zabrak, one prosthetic arm, and legs Rey couldn’t identify. Furthest from the observation window were true monstrosities, things that could be the product of a Hutt and Gungan copulation, sentients with bantha horns and shaggy wampa arms cried out. The scream came from a thing that was part akk dog, part Wookiee, and part zillo beast. They were all of them fashioned creatures, only half made-up.

“Do you like my children?” a high, cold voice asked behind them. Before Rey could call upon the Force, a droid stunned her.

* * *

Feeling returned to her arms first. Rey felt the press of a needle on the inside of her wrist, a tube taped along the length of her forearm and up to her shoulder and beyond. She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, then her right. Her toes tingled; she moved them all simultaneously. She felt the restraints, strong bands around her torso and hips and legs. Rey tested them with what little strength she had; they felt as strong as durasteel. She inhaled slowly through her nose. The stink of old urine and chemicals burned her nostrils. Finally, she forced open her eyelids. It was a chore, the exertion enough to tire her out again. All she saw was dim light flickering above her. She passively reached for the Force, like breathing or blinking. It was absent. She was, for the moment, helpless. Something cold flooded the tube in her arm. Rey drifted back into unconsciousness.

\------

Her bones hurt. Ligaments, tendons, muscles— all stretched uncomfortably over a skeleton that didn’t want to move. She lifted an arm to test her mobility, opened her eyes. The yellow overhead lights flickered, but she could make out the room. It was surprisingly large; she laid on a thin pallet in one corner. A bucket was nearby. The walls and floor felt rubbery. One of her ankles was shackled to a metal pole that ran along the floor. The Force was still lost. Rey heard the swish of robes and a soft hum.

“You’ve been asleep for some time. Don’t tax yourself.”

The creature came into Rey’s sight, tall and elegant and pale with luminous eyes and long fingers, a Kaminoan. He sat a tray of food just close enough for her to reach. Part of Rey wanted to kick it away, to be defiant. The part of her that remembered Jakku’s hungry nights stilled her. She sipped water under the Kaminoan’s eerie gaze.

“Who are you?” Rey asked.

He cocked his head. “A question laden with implications, Madam Jedi. I am a scientist.”

“That’s what you are,” Rey countered, schooling her face into a mask of calm. Kaminoans respected knowledge and reason from what she recalled. “What is a derivative of who, but not an answer in itself.”

“My name is Kolac Pru,” he said. “Does that satisfy you?”

Rey frowned but inclined her head. “Thanks. I’m Rey. I was under the impression that Kolac Pru had died when his ship exploded.”

“I know who you are, Madam Jedi,” Pru said. He gave an eerie smile that only a Kaminoan could manage, a movement that altered the shape of his entire face. “Presumed dead is not dead. It was bothersome to have lost my experiments in the explosion, but I managed to keep my life.”

“And now you experiment here.”

“I do,” Pru conceded. “I am fortunate that you and the young man stumbled into my laboratory, you especially. I had run out of your DNA.”

Realization dawned on Rey and she had to fight a little harder to remain placid. “Surely you still have some of the other—” how had Master Skywalker phrased it? “—genetic material from the Praxeum.”

Pru blinked slowly. “Tell me, what goes through your mind when you conjure Force lightning? Your file is perfunctory; it notes incidents and possible triggers, but not your thought process during the event.” 

Rey flinched. “Why do you want to know about that?” she asked, no longer trying to be placid or maintain reason. The shackle was heavy around her ankle.

“I am a scientist,” Pru repeated, infuriatingly calm. Rey remembered the creatures she and Ben had seen before being stunned: the almost-people, former-people, hybrid-species, utter monstrosities that were dead or near death, crying out in agony, spliced by a madman. He had called them his children. He had taken data on powerful Force users and stolen their DNA. Rey couldn’t suppress a shiver.

What was he going to do to her? To Ben?

“What do I get in exchange for that information?” she asked, curt and clipped.

“Knowledge.”

“What knowledge?” Rey all but snarled.

“If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave you apprised of your friend’s well-being. Is that satisfactory?”

No, it wasn’t. Nothing about this was satisfactory. But Kolac Pru had Ben. He had her and was nullifying her connection to the Force somehow. There was very little she could do until she had time to think, and she couldn’t think unless she was alone.

“I’m not saying anything until I talk to him,” Rey said. “If he’s healthy and tells me so himself, I’ll make that deal with you. I want to hear it from his own mouth, no tricks.”

Pru considered her for a moment, giant eyes gleaming. “Very well.” 

He left her. 

Rey used her time alone wisely. She tested how far she could go from the wall (half a meter), examined the material the shackle and chain were made of (unidentified), and ate a bit of food from her tray. She hid most of it beneath her pallet, creating a lump she had to be mindful of. She inhaled deeply and focused on her body, trying to find any pressing injuries. There were aches, a throb where she had been pierced with a needle, and her ankle was chafing, but she was otherwise unharmed. Once more she reached for the Force. A weak and thready pulse answered her pull, muffled by something organic. Rey focused; chittering sounds, squeaks, metallic scrabbling.  _ Ysalamiri _ . She sighed in relief. The Force wasn’t absent; Pru was manipulating the environment. 

The door to her rubber cell opened. Rey leapt to her feet and surged forward on instinct, only to land on her face when she got too far from the wall. A medical bed came into her line of sight, the finer details obscured in the dim light. Pru wheeled the bed closer to Rey, but just out of her reach. She called Ben’s name. Bleary-eyed, he faced her.

“Rey,” he rasped. There was movement beneath his blanket. Ben frowned at Pru. “Can you unstrap my wrists?” No response. “How are you?” he asked, his voice small.

“Been better,” she said, snorting. Then, an idea— “Just be glad you don’t have the Force,” she said sternly. Rey met his eyes. “Otherwise both of us would be ‘donating’ DNA.” Ben’s brow furrowed for a fraction of a second before nodding weakly. “You don’t look well.”

He tried to shrug one shoulder, restrained and fatigued as he was. “Just tired. I’ve had worse hangovers.”

Pru cleared his throat. “There is your assurance of well-being from his own mouth.”

All too soon, Rey was alone. The lights flickered, dimmed, and died.

* * *

In her sleep, she knocked over what remained of her water. 

When she woke, tongue dry, she held a piece of her hidden food in her mouth until it was sodden with saliva. 

Cursing, she dragged herself along the pipe to which she was chained towards the bucket that waited at the edge of her pallet. She relieved herself.

There was no light, no chrono. The only sounds were her breathing and the far-off chittering of ysalamiri, punctuated regularly by screams. Time had no meaning. She was alone in the dark.

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” she said, voice clear and steady. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” She closed her eyes against the darkness. “There is no death, there is the Force.”

The Jedi Code was her companion. When she woke from a nightmare, it reminded her that there was harmony. When the screaming was unbearable, it reminded her that there was no emotion and lulled her to sleep. When she wondered if she might be imagining the darkness— if she were blind— it reminded her that there was no place for such thoughts. When she thought she would die in the dark, it reminded her that there was the Force.

If only she could grasp it.

On the day her food ran out, she wondered how long it would take to become one with the Force. She had starved before; Jakku was unforgiving, and so were its people. Before Han and Chewie had found her, she went hungry as often as not. She remembered a Crolute passing out portions for scrap and idly wondered if the sand had swallowed him yet. Once he had an old human man beaten to death. All the man had done was slip her a little of what he’d earned on a day when she’d gotten nothing. She hoped the Crolute was dead.

“There is no passion, there is serenity,” the Code said with her voice.

_ there is only passion _

Her head jerked up and she looked around. Darkness, suffocating and murderous, looked back. She curled up in the corner and covered her ears, hiding from the echoes.

She slept and woke and slept and woke and wondered which sleep would be her last.

The fifth time she woke (sixth? seventeenth? When had she stopped counting?), the lights were on. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, pushing until it hurt. Colors burst before her, pinks and purples and whites and greens, colors she had forgotten, colors she hated but realized she had missed, and every color brought with it a lance of pain penetrating deep into her skull. 

“Couldn’t you have made it a gradual change?” she shouted. That would, she realized, be beside the point. Kolac Pru was interested in her Force lightning and presumably wanted to trigger it. It followed that he would push her to extreme limits. “We had a deal, Pru! Answers for answers!”

All at once, the Force came flooding back, filling her, connecting her, completing her. She opened her eyes, stunned with sensory overload. Stumbling, she pitched back against the wall, then forward onto her knees. Spots still filled her vision, and she felt so full of power, she felt everything— the experiments all around her, the Massassi trees far above, and Pru, just outside the door, orchestrating her torment, doing R’iia knew what to Ben— 

_ through victory, my chains are broken _

The door opened. Snarling, Rey snapped the chain on her ankle and lunged. Teeth bared, she squeezed Kolac Pru as he entered, uncaring if he died.

It was not Pru who had come through her cell door. A crushed droid laid on the ground, spitting sparks and attempting to follow orders, even as it was malfunctioning. A primal scream ripped through her as the door slammed closed. She yanked it with the Force, causing a sizable dent.

_ through power, I gain victory _

“Stay out of my head!” she yelled. In the back of her mind, the small corner where the Jedi Code had taken up residence, another voice whispered.  _ There is no emotion, there is peace _ . She gasped for air. “There is no emotion, there is peace.” Another breath, another. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” One long inhale steadied her. Rey stood defiant. “You will not break me,” she declared.

She returned to her pallet and sat cross-legged. Then, connected once more to the Force, she began to meditate. 

\------

In the days of the Old Republic, Force-sensitive children were taken from their families as soon as possible, ostensibly to prevent unnecessary and messy attachments. There were no Jedi during the time of the Empire— not officially— and so Master Skywalker had to forge his own path. He was still consumed with regret, bitter at being like his father, ashamed at having fallen for Emperor Palpatine’s tricks. He was obsessed with the Dark Side, though he hid it well.  _ You’re a Jedi, Rey. Your heritage doesn’t matter _ , he had said. But clearly it did to him. She wanted to know her family, but not because of the Force. She wanted to know which of her parents had hazel eyes, if she had a brother or sister with freckles and brown hair, if her mother was a good cook. Master Skywalker didn’t want her to know her family because somewhere along the line, someone had used the Dark Side. That’s why he had used the word ‘heritage’ in his dismissal; he wasn’t talking about people, he was talking about traits. The berth of his fear was so titanic that Rey couldn’t be angry. Not for that, at least.

\------

Rey was fed regularly now, a tray of protein-rich but simple food slipped into her room whenever she slept. Ever cautious, she rationed and stored the food, sipped the water, and tried not to think of what the catch was. There was always a catch, always a shoe waiting to drop. She kept calm, exercised, and meditated. She tried the door, always in vain. There would be no lightning.

* * *

Ben was unconscious, strapped to a table. The nightmare was becoming more common, frequently accompanied by an insidious voice whispering perversions of the Code. In a meditative trance, she had seen pure Sith roaming Yavin 4, their red skin shining in the sun. It was their gravelly tongues that told her lies.  _ The Force shall free me _ , they said. She shook her head, blinking away the dream. Nothing changed.

Ben was unconscious, strapped to a table, and she was awake. 

Rey leapt to his side in one fluid motion and felt for a pulse. It was there— weak, irregular, but there. His skin was hot and clammy, his hair filthy and sweaty, and blood trickled from his nose. His fingernails were long and jagged, dirty and uncared for, and the man himself— he, so large and imposing— was emaciated, bony, gaunt, and ghoulish. She hardly knew where to start healing. She couldn’t heal starvation or thirst with the Force. She gently opened one of his eyelids; his pupils were pinpricks, the whites of his eyes yellowed.

She concentrated on his head first, probing for fractures or internal wounds and knitting together blood vessels. She wasn’t Rey in this moment; she was simply a Jedi. Her senses tunneled in on her patient. She healed the bruises under his eyes, the needle pricks on his arms and thighs and feet. She reminded scabbed flesh that it used to be a flat expanse once, nudged his liver back to working shape. The cuts on his abdomen were superficial, so small that they could have been called scratches. At her healing touch, they began to ooze blackness.

“That’s not right,” Rey said to herself.

“You’re quite correct,” Pru’s high voice said from behind her. “He’s reacting poorly to a transfusion. Two things are required to solve this. One is an alchemical formula stored in this laboratory. Only I know where it is; not even my droids could give you the information. The second is an organic spark of life. Lightning from a storm would be preferable, but lacking that, your abilities will suffice. Just a little zap should wake him, then he can drink the potion.”

The Jedi realized several things in the same moment. Ben had been poisoned. Pru was telling half of the truth; there was a formula, but he had no intention of giving it to Ben. He was using Ben’s death to manipulate her. Ben was dying.

_ Never forget that men always believe two things about a woman: one, that she is weak, and two, that she is attracted to him _ . Leia’s voice echoed in her mind, drowning out the deception of the Sith and even her own Code. Rey stared at Kolac Pru; there was no way he’d buy the latter, but the former? Absolutely.

She conjured tears to her eyes, formulating a plan. Sniffling and fake-sobbing, she let her hands linger over Ben’s heart. Her hair covered her face and arms. His heartbeat was steady now, but it felt wrong in the Force. There was something in his blood that shouldn’t be there; other blood. Rey mingled entreaties with her tears as she curled her fingers and tried to separate the bad blood from the good. She did not have to pretend to be afraid or exaggerate her pleas. She had never tried a healing so audacious. She fell to the floor, sweat and crocodile tears streaming down her face. 

“I can’t!” she cried. “I don’t know how! Give him the potion and I’ll try, but I won’t try unless you let him drink it first!”

“Ah, but how can he drink if he isn’t awake?” Pru asked. “No, he needs a spark first, to revive him.”

Rey turned her back to him and began unbuckling Ben’s wrists and ankles, the belts around his hips and shoulders. They were weak, thin things that Ben could have broken himself if he were hale. She started shaking, and not for show. “What do you even want with him? What are you trying to do to him?”

Pru took the bait— or maybe he was baiting her. “I have murdered the lovely and the helpless, strangled the innocent as they slept, and crushed the throat of one who never injured me or any other living thing, all for science. I have cloned plants and creatures sentient and non-sentient. I have developed soldiers and weapons from single cells. Creation and reproduction are simple things. Evolution is difficult. I was giving him the Force, creating a marvel from the mundane.” Rey’s jaw fell. It had been her idea to lie about Ben’s Force sensitivity. This was her fault. She blinked away real tears and gasped for air. “I should have used same-species blood for the transfusion. I’ve made this mistake before. The Geonosian you killed was one of my children, driven mad from pure Sith blood—”

Rey saw red. All pretense was gone, and any sadness with it. Anger, hot and searing, consumed her. She felt the energy flowing to her hands. She was going to crush him, choke him if she had to, but she was getting out of this prison today and taking all of the people Pru had hurt with her.

She pushed aside Ben’s table with her mind a little too harshly; she was surprised that he didn’t fall off. He groaned even in his comatose state.

Instinctively, Rey reached for a lightsaber that wasn’t there. She lowered her head and, like an animal, charged at her quarry. The room smelled clean, and Rey stopped in her tracks. She held up one hand, horrified, and saw purple sparks dancing on her fingertips. Beyond her hand stood Kolac Pru, assassin, murdurer, monster. He wanted lightning? She turned her hand. It would be quick, quicker than he deserved. It was getting so hard to hold back, and the heat was unbearable. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of seeing her use Force lightning.

Pru drew a blaster just as she pulled back her arm. Her hand wouldn’t grab it, couldn’t, it was too busy holding the lightning, and she froze in place.  _ What an uncivilized way to die _ , she thought.  _ Shot in the heart by a blaster _ . The bolt whizzed past her ear and the blaster clattered to the ground.

Before her, Kolac Pru was clawing at his throat, gagging and gasping. His pale face grew ashen as he asphyxiated. As her morbid curiosity grew, the heat in Rey’s hands diminished. She followed Pru’s eyes. 

Ben stood, leaning against the table that had once held him hostage, left arm extended and hand balled into a fist. He caught Rey’s stare and dropped the hold. Pru coughed and scrabbled on the rubbery floor. His long fingers grazed the hilt of the blaster, but Rey was in control of herself again. She used the Force to pull the blaster. It went soaring into the trembling fingers of Ben Solo.

“I did it,” Pru rasped. “Success has crowned my—”

Ben fired three shots. “Two in the head, one in the heart,” he said weakly. “That’s what Dad always recommended. Leftover training from his days with the Empire.” He fell to his knees, the rubber flooring absorbing the harshness of the landing. Rey ran to his side.

“Hey now,” she whispered, smoothing his hair from his face, “I need you to keep still. He poisoned you and I can’t heal that. I have to hunt down the antidote. Let’s get out of this room, first of all.” Rey supported Ben as they left the prison room. She kicked her heel into Kolac Pru’s still smoking skull on the way out for good measure and locked the door behind them. 

She had anticipated a mad search. Instead, a neatly-labeled vial of dark liquid sat on a desk hewn from a Massassi tree just a few meters from Rey’s prison. Next to it were a datapad, a collection of hand-written notes, and a well-worn copy of  _ The Creation of Monsters _ . Ben drank the black potion and felt relief almost immediately. Rey healed the scratches on his abdomen.

Ben wept, and Rey held him.

* * *

They exited the Geonosian Bio Lab as the sun was rising. Their hand-in-hand walk through the humid jungle was slow going, but shorter than anticipated. After less than two kilometers, a familiar droid zoomed into Rey’s line of sight.

“Prowl!” she yelled. “Galfridian!”

Friends and family were upon them in what could have been moments, doting and fussing and caring and simply being present. After so much time with screams, far-off chittering, and the Code as her only companions, Rey was grateful for the simple pleasure of being with other people. She sensed that Ben didn’t want to let go of her hand; she didn’t make him. It was a comfort to know that someone else had known and survived that narrow verge of crag-like agony and lived. They were forever linked, and Rey didn’t mind at all.

\------

Uncle Luke’s face was swollen. Ben’s brow furrowed as his mother pulled him into a hug. How was Luke’s face still swollen from her punches? Surely they had been gone long enough for him to have healed. Ben only realized he had spoken aloud when his father answered him.

“She gave him a new one every day,” Han said. He wrapped his arms around his wife and son. “Luke just takes ‘em. Doesn’t even flinch or close his eyes. My favorite was the day she literally kicked his ass. Told him he wouldn’t sit or shit for a week if she could help it.”

“Will you stop now? Since I’m back?” Ben asked.

Leia petted his face. “I’m going to do whatever you want,” she whispered.

“I want you to stop,” Ben said, inhaling shakily. “Hurting someone every day— even though what Luke did was— we can’t be like that— we can’t—”

Leia shushed him, kissing his cheek. “Whatever you want.”

\------

None of Kolac Pru’s experiments were alive when the Jedi came to extract them. Even the ysalamiri, caged and moved around the Bio Lab to suit Pru’s needs, were dead, their throats slashed. The Jedi found no trace of Pru— not his datapad, not his notes, and not his body. He was officially declared presumed dead, but he had been presumed dead before. Ben wondered when and where the madman would show himself again.

A month of dragging captivity in the deep, a month of rest and scholarship on Yavin 4, and he was finally himself. He wasn’t the person he had been before the Festival of Liberation. He was a Force user now, as he was always meant to be. He felt connected to his family in a way he never had before. He was even learning the basics of lightsaber training. Yet part of him wondered if he was supposed to be here.

Han and Chewbacca showed up one night. They often surprised Rey; now they had two Jedi to visit. While Chewie and Rey hiked through the jungle, Han took Ben to the  _ Falcon _ . He opened up one of the ship’s smaller smuggling holes and pulled out some aged Corellian brandy. Father and son passed the bottle back and forth over the dejarik table.

“You happy?” Han asked, taking a swig.

Ben faltered. “Sometimes.”

“When?”

“When I’m with her,” Ben said, sighing.

Han nodded. “She the only thing keeping you around?”

“I’m a Skywalker. This is who I am.”

“You’re a Skywalker, huh?” Han leaned back in his seat. “Seems to me you’re a Solo. Wanna be a smuggler? You’re also a Naberrie. Feel like being Queen?”

“Dad…”

“Your name, or blood, midi-whatevers, none of that matters. You can change your name. Until a few months ago, you’d never used the Force. You’re a crack shot, a great pilot. Terrible liar, but otherwise you’d make a fine smuggler. You seemed to like working in politics. Not many people can  _ actually  _ be anything when they grow up, but you can be just about anything you damn well please. You’re one quarter Skywalker. You’re one hundred percent Ben. Don’t do what you think you’re supposed to do. Do what makes you happy.”

Ben smiled. “You sound like Rey.”

“She’s a smart one.” He took another drink, gestured to the dejarik board. “You gonna move that Grimtaash or give up your Strider?”

“Strider.”

“Nice try, kid, but I practically invented that gambit.”

* * *

The nighttime skyline of Hosnian Prime was bright and inviting, reaching to embrace Ben after his long absence. He considered stopping at his family’s apartments to say hello to his mother, but the idea was fleeting. Senator Solo hadn’t used his own Senatorial apartments much. If he wanted to be respected, that had to change. His mother had once said that politics suited him. He agreed.

He didn’t go immediately to bed. He tossed his suitcases on the living room floor and watched the fine clothes scatter out of them, landing at a pair of booted feet. He raked his eyes up her form slowly, gaze lingering on curves or places he knew she liked to be touched. When Ben had told Luke that he wasn’t giving up his search for Pru, Luke had nodded and suggested a bodyguard. Ben had requested Master Rey, so promoted for Service to the Republic and cool head (and hands) under extreme pressure. Ben had slept through her ceremony, still weak from the experimentations. 

“Hey,” Rey said, flipping on the lights. “You okay over there? I can feel you thinking.”

“Just wishing I’d been at your ceremony,” he said, picking up his clothes.

“You saw the recording.” She bent to help him; their fingers brushed.

“Not the same,” he murmured. She caught his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm.

“You’re here now,” Rey said.

“Thanks to you.” She stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. His hand found her cheek and she softened. “Let me appreciate you,” he entreated. “I know you’re not comfortable with praise and thanks, but let me appreciate you sometimes. For me, if not for you.” She nodded. When he brushed his lips against hers, she couldn’t stifle a laugh.

“Appreciation time over so soon?”

“No,” Ben said, pulling them both into a standing position. “It’s just a different type of appreciation. Mutual appreciation.”

“That word has officially lost all meaning,” Rey replied, winding her arms around Ben’s neck. She tugged him closer, ghosted a kiss onto his neck. “Should we find a closet?” she asked. “Is that where this is headed?”

He laughed. “I hope that’s where it’s headed, but not in a closet again. Master Jedi, I’d like to take you to bed. I promise not to bite.”

“Less talking, more doing, Senator,” Rey answered. She looked him square in the eye. “And you’ll get no such promise from me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the following:  
> silvander, who said she'd be my beta only if she got to read the fic first. You're more than an accountabillabuddy, you're the bestest buddy <3  
> [Mod Victoria](https://aionimica.tumblr.com), who fixed some serious em dash nonsense and made sure I italicized _Falcon_.  
> [Mod Mneme](https://mnemehoshiko.tumblr.com), who laid some real truth on me when she told me that I use too many similes. Her short "Cut back." saved you all more than 10 similes. I blame Virgil; no one translates Virgil and comes away writing an appropriate number of similes.  
> My Buttercup, who doesn't read fanfic, doesn't like SW, and will never see this, helps more than she knows. 
> 
> Pretentious Author's Pretentious References:  
> Obviously I used the Shelley fam, Mary W and Percival, Frankenstein and Prometheus Unbound respectively.
> 
> The Fun References [because we always cite our work!]: Pirate's Price 3, Poe Dameron 21, the EU (almost entirely because I wanted to have Finn and Finn argue), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Repo! The Genetic Opera, and The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Make sure to check out the rest of the RFFA 2020 collection, [To Rapture the Earth and the Seas](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/RFFAToRapturetheEarthandtheSeas)!
> 
> Please leave a contribution in the little box. I do my best to respond to each comment and I really love hearing what you think. If you only have time to drop an emoji or a few words, that's cool too. At least it'll let me know your general vibe <3 Or just poke the "kudos" button if you enjoyed ^^ Those things are like cookies.


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